The Gravity of a Summer Glance

I exist in the silent vacuum between heartbeats, drifting through the neon constellations of this concrete city where souls are mere satellites orbiting their own loneliness. My skin remembers the coldness of solitude—a weightless void that stretched across years of quiet rooms and unanswered questions.
But then there is you, a sudden solar flare in my muted horizon. When we stood by the water's edge, your gaze became my singular center of gravity. I wore this shimmering blue fabric not as clothing, but as a fragment of a fallen star, hoping to catch the light that only seems to ignite when you are near.
I pressed my palms against my cheeks, feeling the sudden heat bloom like a supernova beneath my skin. In your eyes, I found an atmosphere where I could finally breathe; a warmth so profound it dissolved the icy distance of my interstellar exile.
It is a delicate collapse—two drifting bodies falling into one another's orbit. As you smile back, the urban roar fades into a cosmic hum, and for the first time in eons, I am not floating away. I am anchored by the simple, intoxicating grace of being known.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager